


Elastic heart

by kid_n_the_hall



Series: Eros harrows my heart [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Phryne pov, Reunion, beautiful idiots being idiots, rambles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kid_n_the_hall/pseuds/kid_n_the_hall
Summary: So this is the fic that weren't meant to be. But I heard Sias' Elastic heart on the radio and I thought of Phryne. So when another fic refused to cooperate this began to irk me and ended up written instead, and I didn't plan to put it up here, but as with most things in my life at the moment, I thought ”what the hell”. If not for anything else but to punish the other stupid fic.





	1. Chapter 1

_Why not fight this war without weapons_

_And I want it and I wanted it bad_

_But there were so many red flags_

_Now another one bites the dust_

_And let's be clear, I trust no one_

_You did not break me_

_I'm still fighting for peace_

_Well, I've got thick skin and an elastic heart_

_But your blade it might be to sharp_

//

It took a week, five and a half days to be precise. Perhaps the proximity of my father and absence of all other sensible beings acted as catalyst. I sensed this buzzing, close to an ache of sorts. A pull. Day eight I realised what it was. It wasn't nerves or my father that irked me _well, yes of course he did, but that's been a familiar feeling since I was three_. I missed _him_. It took fifteen days before I spelled out his name in my head. Jack. I missed Jack. Oh, that's just great.

My impulses have got me far, I've had adventures, grown, gained dear friends, felt truly alive. Sometimes however, they are downright idiotic. Flippant comments escaping with impressively bad timing. I should've telegraphed him telling him not to come, dropped off my father in London, done my tour of Europe and then gone back home. I almost did. But then another impulse scrunched the little note up and tossed it in a bin.

The pulling ache kept gnawing at me. Whisky almost made it worse. His eyes were never there to be met after the first sip. No quick mind that twisted and volleyed my quips back. No one who really knew me. I lashed out at my father. _R_ _epeatedly_. Tried to find distraction in Istanbul but failed. No attraction. Perhaps it was down to physics. Perhaps to chemistry. Or geography.

//

I received a telegram this morning. He's on a ship. There is not a litany of profanities long enough to relieve this tense excitement.

//

Janey and I used to chase rabbits as kids. They were quick and flighty but I was fast and equally unpredictable. I always wondered how their hearts could keep beating at that galloping pace I felt in my palm, and not break. Then I met Dot and that little rabbit moved in with me. Scared by virtually everything, but love. She strode into that, with a confident heart, and forever was a promise to her, not a threat. I wonder how my heart will cope. Keeping up this pace it will have used up all it's beats not before long.

I use to tell myself, and others; I'm not sentimental, I don't dwell, I don't take things seriously. Yet in my jewellery box there are two pieces that receives tenfold the attention of all others. A tin badge. An enamel pin. And I worry _which I just do not do!_ I worry that he'll get here and I have somehow exaggerated this, the feelings are not what I thought, or they're too much. Or once out of City South and my parlour and with a shortage of dead bodies and mysteries, it will lose it's edge. That I will crush him. That I'll fall down a pedestal and crush him. And myself. I worry I've led him half way around the world with nothing to offer but some short term excitement of physical desire that he believes to be much more. Maybe I'm just fighting ghosts and windmills, but ghosts of my past have been hauntingly real. Besides, I do not worry.

I am blunt. Direct. I'm used to speed. I make quick turns, got the eyes of a fox, maneuvering expertly over bumps, around pot holes. When my father taught me to ride a bike,  _one of the few good things he did, though the bike was stolen goods of course,_  he told me that speed was the key. If I rode too slow, I'd tip over and scrape my knees. I embraced it, speed agreed with me. So that slow dance with Jack had, have, me struggling with my balance. Staying in the same spot too long gives me vertigo. Usually I'd pick up my speed and forge forward. Not now. Now and then I found myself unable not to adapt to his pace. And I found I preferred that rush and challenge to running nowhere fast.

//

The red lining of an overcoat, flapping in the wind, catches my eye. He has yet to see me, and I rest in that for a moment, taking in his familiar features, and something falls into place. My footing feels more secure, yet lighter. Our eyes meet, and there's a shift in his gaze. It's sharper. Warmer. I smile with a width that has my cheeks complaining. I can see he's trying to contain a grin. He does a faint attempt to school his features and greet me with a firm ”Miss Fisher”. It fails halfway through when the adorable smile is back and he ends with a ”Phryne” that almost crumbles. My body outsmarts my mind and bolts, falls into him. Nose lodged between collar and neck, drawing in the mind-jittering smell of Jack Robinson. Low rumbles in my ear. Arms pressing me to him, his hands burning on my neck and waist. I'm almost stepping on his toes. His coat's around us both, I'm thinking I'd like to build us a chrysalis out of it.

//

We're in a cab, both of us in the back-seat, it may appear perfectly casual. He's reclining, one arm thrown on the backrest behind me.

We ride in silence. Even casual chatting seems too important and intimate to be shared within earshot of the cabbie. Our thighs are aligned and in contact, and it should not be feeling nearly as potent as it is. I'm surprised I can't see little sparks jumping between our bodies.

I can feel how his eyes flicker between the surroundings swooshing by and me, almost scorching my cheeks, my lips, my hands. I can hardly look at him, so I stare at his knee. I'm afraid that if I meet his eyes it'll blow a fuse in my head and I'll be mounting him right here before any of us have time to blink. O _r I'll be reduced to a smoking heap of ashes_. So I alternate my stare at his shoes, _new ones!,_ and my hands, fidgeting with my gloves. He shifts ever so little, tiny bit of friction between a wool covered thigh and a silk clad one, my skirt hike up an inch.

His hand grabs mine, index finger settling on the inside of my wrist to find my pulse. Should be easy enough, my heart can compete with a scared bunny's. The level of intimacy I find in this, the rush of arousal a simple hand holding gives me, makes me feel like a Victorian relic.

I forget my restrictions and glance up at him, and damn that bastard, he looks perfectly smug, a fond smirk does this little twitch to the corner of his mouth. Luckily, just as his look forces me to press my knees together and bite my lip to contain all this whatever it is, we come to a stop outside my hotel.

The feat of getting ourselves through the lobby, the elevator ride and the corridor to my suite, without any cursing, cupping or pressing one another up a wall switching to instant ravishing mode, will in my head be known as my greatest restraint of -29. I enter the room, throw my hat, and then I'm being so thoroughly kissed my knees actually do give in.

”Missed you...been too long” he growls between sloppy but perfect kisses.

”Blame my father” I pant as I rip his coat, jacket and hat off. _Have I ever been this overcome by needy want before?_

”I'm no Hamlet, but I've felt an urge or two to wring you fathers neck”.

”Now that's an overture, Jack” I can't help but laugh, feeling so utterly elated. _You're in a minefield now Phryne._ And I pull him with me as I fall onto the bed.

//

Why am I so bloody surprised? It annoys me. _That kiss is all electricity and passion._ He is astute, confident, so proficient. I do know this. _Those hands!_ Why does it surprise me that all the characteristics I appreciate daily he aptly transfers to the bedroom? _Yes, oh, just so..._

The surprise is part of the thrill, but it makes me feel out of my depth. I think too much. Or too little of the things that matter. _Oh, god, how does he do that?_ I should have finished this analysis before him deluding my mind with his scent and skin and hands and _oh..._

Fuck. No. Don't go there Phryne. _Exactly there, yes. Yes, Jack._ Jack. It feels too good having his name echoing in my head. Can he hear what I think when he looks at me like that? _Do that again!_

Perhaps he can. It'll break me, I feel weak. Is it him who makes me weak or him that makes me see it?

_Yes. Yes, oh!_ There should be a distinction here, yes? Emotions. Sex. _Where did gravity go?_ Him. Me. Distinction? Us. _It's fucking bliss when he moves like this, touches me like that._ Jack.

I can't think straight, maybe I should just...feel...for now. He's inside me and all around. _How do I rip another sound like that from him?_ I'm too content now, and incoherent. These movements feels so... _uh..oh..._ integral.

He whispers something behind my ear. _Let go._ He'll break me. _Don't stop._ Don't stop. Fuck. No. Sod it. His jaw is sharp in my hands. Soft lips. Gentle eyes. _So close._ I'm lost, overcome. _Jack._ His jaw tenses, his eyes are too intense. My brows contract, my jaw drops, my neck arches back. _OhmywhateverbeingIshouldadressmycursesto._ I break. He does too. I manage to give his cheek a little stroke and he breaths some affectionate sound at my neck. _I'm drowning._

His thumb is circling my chin, tracing my lips. He's still inside me, more or less. His nose on mine. I want to cry. _What are you doing to me?_ And for once I don't argue, I don't fight. Release following release.

I'm exhausted, and wrapped around each other we sleep.

//

When I wake up, it's dark. I'm moulded into his embrace, it's a perfect fit. I groan in my head at that thought, I'm losing it surely. _You aren't, you got it. You got him._ Overwhelmed and lost. The impulse to flee is nagging me to peel myself from him to go and regain my equilibrium.

How does one know? This mystery doesn't really present hard evidence. What happens later, when I want to fly again, to seek the thrill with others?

Flight program activated.

He doesn't wake up. He's naked, at peace, unkempt. Beautiful.

A few minutes later I'm shivering, walking down a wet, cold London street.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard_

_Yeah, I may snap and I move fast_

 

I'm pacing back and forth in front of my hotel. I did start to walk away but I just kept turning left, so after a brisk full circle around the block I found myself in front of the revolving door again, unsure how to proceed. I didn't really think this through. _Really!? Great insight._ This lovely, British, freezing dampness is working it's way into my bones. _Would've been warmer in bed_.

He came from spring to this stubborn, clammy autumn for me, for us. Us. _It's not as if it's news Phryne._ Maybe I shouldn't fabricate all the scenarios of ”us” that can go wrong and quench the present because of a racing mind fuelled by past demons.

 _You never stood up a challenge before._ And this challenge comes with sharp wit, kind, generous heart and a preview of glorious sex. Fifteen minutes and I miss him. Y _ou're not pining, you're an idiot._

I let out a hoarse wail at the clouds, a few raindrops lands in chilly, tiny dots on my eyelids, lips and cheeks. _Deep breaths, come on._ I shush myself and then I'm in the lobby once more. _Good girl._ After a brief exchange with the night porter I have a bottle of scotch in my hand. My mind is fuzzy, but somehow I decide I can't wait for the elevator, I stumble through the door to the staircase, and half run half claw my way up the stairs. Oh, hell, I'm actually running after a man now aren't I? _No, you're running after Jack._

I'm tackling the door to the corridor open, losing a shoe in the process, rip off the other one as well. I keep running for the sake of momentum. Full stop in front of the door that holds the mystery of Jack Robinson. Can't really breathe, could blame the stairs but...

I lean in with my forehead against cool, smooth wood. Key? Fuck. No key. It's still on the desk opposite the bed. I resist banging my head against the door and knock instead. Can't remember feeling this humiliated before. But I knock again. And again.

Finally I hear a raspy ”Who is this?” from the other side.

”Me”, a pathetic little whisper.

“Phryne!?” the poor sod sounds so confused. _You're in good company then._ I whimper a tiny ”yes” and the door opens, and dear lord he simply does not operate within the boundaries of fair play. Even my womb whimpers. He's wearing trousers but barely, not a stitch more. _Focus._ He steps back, I follow, he gives me a sleepy, sceptical look. I should really say something but I just make an attempt at a flailing gesture with my hands, still holding the scotch and shoes. Some faint sound of a wounded animal escapes me. _Talk to him._ ”I...” _Saying what, that he horrifies me half to death? That I'll destroy him?_ He reads my mind before I do however, relieves me from my shoes and the bottle, retrieves two tumblers, pours some whisky, takes one for himself and hands me the other.

”A little courage?”. Unceremoniously I chug it down in one go. Those concerned brows and the tightened mouth kills me. _You won't destroy him, he's not the one running scared._

”I can't do this” I squeak, staring out into a undefined spot mid-air.

”What do you mean? You don't want this, me, here?” _I do._

”No, uh, yes! I want you. Here. More than anything, but I _can't,_ I don't know what...how...if I...fuck it” _Really eloquent there P._

”It's alright”

”It's not!”, more flailing.

”Well, it will be, we'll find our direction as we go”

”This new territory, I don't know how to orientate, I have no currency valid here” _So from drivel to euphemisms then._

”That's bollocks” he places his hand over my heart, manages to catch my eye from under long lashes, ”you hold an exceedingly large amount of the correct currency.”

He's right. I love, I do. With emphasis. But strictly platonic. _Well.._. So if that happens to align with this passion, this _Eros_ we share, where does that leave me? Exposed, raw, clueless.

”I'm scared” it's not words as much as it's a release of air. _I'll have to kill him if he tells anyone._

”I figured as much. But we're a team, are we not?” he takes hold of my hand, laces our fingers together. _God, can he be any more noble?_

My throat is in knots, ”yes”.

”Then we move forward together, slow and close, guiding each other. To tell the truth, I'm a bit scared as well.”

”I can't promise...” my voice breaks. _When the hell did I lose control of my emotions?_

”I'm not asking for promises, but I will ask for honesty, can you give me that?”

”Yes” it's more the noise of a creaky door than my voice. He nods and closes his eyes briefly.

”I shall hope for eternity but be content with a moment.” he says this with a smile painted with a mix of abashed amusement. _Is he quoting?_ I search my brain.

”Is that original Robinson?” Can't keep my voice steady.

”It is” he confesses.

”How terribly sentimental of you, Inspector” I contradict my attempt with that statement as tears fill my eyes. _Because why not top off this dignified night with some very sensual and snotty sobbing?_

”It seems I have a tendency towards that, I hope it's not a deal breaker?” he squeezes my hand and his earnest, loving gaze makes something snap. A wavering sob echoes in the room, and I weep from somewhere in my core. He moves in and starts to kiss away my tears, a perpetual labour of love, like the rock of Sisyphus they just keep rolling down. Can't remember ever crying like this, not even after Janey, then I just shut down.

Now, I'm not sad, I'm miserable. Scared witless but happy. I think? _You are._ Somewhere in the midst of this sappy predicament, a chuckle sprouts in my chest and spills out between the tears. As he stops to assess this switch of mood, I catch his lips in a brief kiss before I nestle in my nose below a clavicle. I allow his smell to soothe me, it's a mix of us both, something hinting at lavender, another scent almost like moss or a tad woody. Sex. A little whisky, wool and warm skin. It ticks all my boxes. _So this is what home smells like?_

Maybe it shouldn't have to be more complicated than with animals finding their most compatible mate by nose. Not that this is a breeding program I've enrolled, but still. _We're only mammals after all._ His hand in mine, I raise it to rub my cheek in it, kiss his palm. He does a soft spider walk with his other hand up my spine, letting it rest at the nape of my neck. I bury my nose just under his chin. Some knots in my gut unravels. _This feels so...complete._ My exasperated exhale tickles him, and the husky laugh that follows unties another couple of knots. I relax. _Uh oh._

”Damn you” I mutter, lips still pressed to his throat. ”Alright” his reply hums through us both.

 _Sod it._ ”I love you” I let out this barely audible mutter, bracing myself for cold panic clawing down my back. There is none.

”Alright”. _Alright!?_

He pats me awkwardly on the back of my neck. I can feel him holding his breath. And holding. _Great idea, Phryne, impulses, bah!_

”Don't asphyxiate yourself out of disbelief, Inspector, it would bruise my ego terribly” _How did I manage to find and deliver those thirteen words? Bloody miracle._ Flight programme nudging me, I push myself from him. I just get away by a couple of inches before he's caught me, bringing me to him. Large hands got my cheeks in a gentle grip. Wide eyes searches mine. I glare at him.

”Apparently I do, and I can't really know ho...” _stop blabbering_ ”..but if..”.

He cuts me off.

”I...” too long pause. _Keep talking, you foolish man!_ A sheepish smile claims his face ”Doubt truth to be a liar” he offers, I huff. He presses a kiss on top of my fringe.

”It's just, Phryne, that I thought I would have to restrain myself for a while, regarding that matter.”

”What matter, quoting Hamlet?”

His turn to be frustrated, a bit of his Phryne-now-you're-just-taunting-me-look flickers in his eyes. Which I am, almost always. Taunting him, that's how I cope.

”The matter of telling you how I love you madly”.

There's a tingling rush under my skin and I feel like a sabred bottle of Champagne. I kiss him of course. And the desire that never really abated is soaring. The ensuing lovemaking, y _es, Phryne, that's what this is,_ is slow but intense, less frantic than earlier but not less acute. An impossible and mutual need to be close and closer yet, as if we're trying to absorb one another and are halfway to success.

 


End file.
